Page:The poetical works of William Blake, 1906 - Volume 1.djvu/43

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! bar thine adamantine doors: The north is thine; there hast thou built thy dark Deep-founded habitation. Shake not thy roofs, Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car. He hears me not, but o'er the yawning deep Rides heavy; his storms are unchained, sheathed In ribbed steel; I dare not lift mine eyes For he hath reared his sceptre o'er the world. Lo! now the direful monster, whose skin clings To his strong bones, strides o'er the groaning rocks: He withers all in silence, and in his hand Unclothes the earth, and freezes up frail life. He takes his seat upon the cliffs,—the mariner Cries out in vain. Poor little wretch, that deal'st With storms!—till heaven smiles, and drives the monster Yelling beneath Mount Hecla to his caves.

fair-haired Angel of the Evening, Now, whilst the sun rests on the mountains, light Thy [own] bright torch of love—thy radiant crown Put on, and smile upon our evening bed! Smile on our loves; and, while thou drawest the Blue curtains of the sky, scatter thy dew On every flower that shuts its sweet eyes [now] In timely sleep. Let thy west wind sleep on The lake; speak silence with thy glimmering eyes, And wash the dusk with silver.—Soon, full soon, Dost thou withdraw; then the wolf rages wide, And then the lion glares through the dun forest. The fleeces of our flocks are covered with Thy sacred dew: protect them with thine influence!